


I'll Keep Your Memory Alive

by rinfics



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: DM/HG, F/M, Harry Potter - Freeform, RW/HG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinfics/pseuds/rinfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I broke up with you, remember? A while ago? In your office?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Keep Your Memory Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the dmhgficexchange "Divine the Future with Draco and Hermione" (2007-2008).
> 
> Also, there is a picture that goes along with this story, and it can be found at the original post: http://community.livejournal.com/dmhgficexchange/272034.html

**Act One: In which there is a beginning**

"Let's break up."

He looked up quickly from his desk, mouth agape. "What?"

"I said, let's break up." She moved towards the fireplace, picking up the picture of the two of them displayed on the mantelpiece. She wiped her finger across the glass, and leaves behind a clean streak, the tip of her finger coated with dust. "I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?" he asked her, confusion evident in his voice. He hadn't done anything stupid lately, hadn't he?

"This—" she waved her hands around, as if trying to gather what was them, trying to compartmentalize—she was good at that, he thinks fleetingly, before his thoughts are interrupted by her voice. "—relationship of ours."

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, taking a sip from the bottle of butterbeer on his desk. "I don't find anything wrong with it."

She sighed, taking her scarf from the chair and wrapping it around her neck. "It's not a relationship."

He stared at her, not believing what he was hearing. "Of course it is. You're a girl. I'm a man. We've been together for two years. C'mon, you're the one good with words. Isn't that what having a relationship means? Two people together?"

She finished with her scarf and tugged her gloves on her hands. They were camel coloured leather. He couldn't recall buying them for her—did she get new ones recently? What happened to the ones he gave her before?

"I mean, I'm a good boyfriend." He ticked off the fingers of his hands. "I give you a gift for your birthday. I give you flowers on Valentine's Day. I give you two gifts for Christmas. Heck, I even remember to send your parents gifts on their birthdays!"

She stopped midway and looked at him, disbelief in her eyes. "A relationship is not about giving gifts. You, of all people, should know that."

"Well, all I'm saying is that I'm a responsible boyfriend—I mean, you wouldn't want an irresponsible person to be taking care of you, right?" he looked at her, smiling. He knew she liked that in a man—responsibility, steadfastness—someone she can depend on.

She looked away, and grabbed her handbag, slinging the strap over her shoulder. "It's not working out." She walked to the door, her hand gripping the doorknob. She looked back suddenly, meeting his eyes. "Give me a reason. Give me a reason to stay."

"You love me. I love you. We both want the same things, like marriage and children. We're comfortable. What more do you need?" He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Are you having your woman's time? Is that what's bringing this on?"

Her eyes became disappointed, and he felt a bit irked. What had he done to warrant that look in her eyes?

"How easily you answered that." She looked away. Her posture screamed dejection. "Are we that comfortable? Have I become your security blanket? Someone you know would never leave you?" She laughed mirthlessly. "Someone who will accept you no matter what you do? A good, kind, reliable, self-sacrificing girlfriend?"

He was at a loss for words. What was wrong with her? "If I had known you felt that way—"

"Don't!" She cut him off. "Don't tell me you would have changed anything, because you wouldn't have. You would have just brushed it off, thinking it was my woman's time." Her shoulders are shaking—from anger? He can't tell. She just might be playing a big joke on him. It wasn't her usual behaviour, but he wouldn't put it past her.

"You know what our problem is?" She looked back once more, and now he saw that the disappointment in her eyes was gone. In its' place was something else. Her eyes looked tired.

"I don't know what your problem is. I have no problems with us." He replied, crossing his arms over his chest. She could be stubborn sometimes.

"You've put me in this mould of what you want me to be. You only see me as one thing, expect me to react according to your version of me. You've said it yourself—you only think of me as a girl." She laughed again, this time bitterly. "I've tried so hard to fit myself into what you wanted me to be. I've even resigned from work so that we could start our family. I don't do that. That's not me."

"You've never been anyone but yourself in this relationship! And what's wrong with resigning so you can focus your time on our family?" He stood up, slamming his hands on the desk. What was wrong with her?

"See? There you go again—you don't see. I've been trying to pretend to be someone else, because I kept hoping that I'd be accepted!" Her grip on the strap of her handbag had caused her knuckles to grow white. "I thought…I thought that maybe, if I tried hard enough, your love would be worth sacrificing some of the things that are important to me."

He stood there, feeling a ball of dread growing in his stomach. Was she serious about this?

"After the war ended, and I saw how much loss everyone suffered, I thought that I should grasp whatever happiness I could. I thought I could grow to love the life you offered. But…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "…he was right. About me. About us. About everything."

She twisted the doorknob, opening the door. "I don't want to do this anymore. It's not enough for me." With those parting words, she stepped out of the door. And out of his life.

**Act Two: In which the plot thickens**

He sat there for half an hour, trying to digest what just happened.

Did she just say what she said? Did she just get angry at him? Had she just broken up with him?

That wasn't right. She never got angry about things like that. She was always preaching to him the value of talking things over reasonably and in a calm manner. She wasn't the type of person to issue ultimatums. She was all about compromise. And she would never, ever break up with him.

He had been good. He had been faithful. He had been perfect. Well, sometimes, he did get a bit sloshed, and sometimes, he raised his voice at her, but he was always sorry for it afterward, right? He bought her flowers and candy and all that shit that men bought when they feel like cozying up to their girlfriends.

He brought her to restaurants when they went out on dates. Like when he brought her to the Swan's Serenade last…when was the last time they went out on a date?

He rested his elbows on the desk, trying to recall. There was the one on Hallows Eve…then…they were both too busy. He had an insane amount of workload, and she was tying loose ends at her job. They hadn't gone out for…almost three months now! Maybe that was why she was miffed! He hadn't been paying attention to her!

All he needed to do was order flowers—a huge bouquet of roses—and some of those liquored chocolates she always shared with him. He rose and wrote a letter to the florist, quickly sending off his owl. He smiled, congratulating himself on a job well done. He brought to his mind the way she smiled when he last gave her a gift. She'd cradle it in her hands, feigning surprise. Then she'd open it—slowly, her lips will curve upwards, then she'd look at him, and there would be—a hint of disappointment in her eyes?

He shook his head, as if to clear the image from his brain. He must be confusing how she looked like a while ago and how she looked like then. The way she looked earlier would leave a lasting impression on anybody—tired, sad, and old. Her woman's time really did a number on her.

Besides, she was always happy to receive gifts from him. She was fond of saying that it didn't matter what the gift was, it was the thought that counted.

He went to the brandy snifter on the sideboard and poured himself a shot. He needed something to calm him down. She had given him a fright earlier. He paused in the middle of his drink, a thought occurring to him. Would she really leave him?

He hurriedly knocked back his drink, immediately pouring himself another one. She wouldn't. He was confident she wouldn't. She had to know that no one else would take her—she was pretty, but not a great beauty. She didn't have a womanly figure. She was not versed in homemaking skills. She didn't have a dowry. She was too outspoken, which made most men steer clear of her.

Even if she decided to leave him, she would come back. She was so immersed in saving the world when they were younger, that she hadn't had the time to develop all the social skills needed for snagging a man. He was sure after a few failed attempts she would be back at his doorstep.

Yes, that was right. So he had nothing to worry about. He eyed the snifter in his hand. He should have another drink. His nerves were still jumpy.

**Act Three: In which our lovebirds meet**

She stepped out into the sunlight, away from the dark, damp building that housed the Wizarding world's government. Breathing in the frigid air deeply, she smiled. She was free.

Apparating into her apartment, she hummed a little tune as she removed her scarf, cloak, and gloves.

She let out a squeal when two arms suddenly grabbed her waist from behind.

"Guess who." A voice spoke into her ear.

Her smile grew even wider as she leaned into the lean figure of the man behind her. "I don't know. Are you a burglar?"

"Maybe." The voice replied, lips brushing over the helix of her ear. "What do you want me to be?"

"You." She shivered at the delicious sensations flowing through her body. He was the only man who had discovered that the curve of her ear was an erogenous zone. "I want you to be yourself."

"Are you sure?" His lips were now nibbling on her earlobes. "I might turn out to be boring. Wouldn't you rather me be a thief, coming here to steal your heart?" He kissed a path down her neck, pausing on the spot where her pulse was bounding. "Or other things?"

"You already have my heart—" She let out a sound when he swept his lips from her pulse to the bottom of her jaw in one feather-like swoop. "—among other things."

"I know." He smiled and turned her around to face him. "I like hearing you say it."

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against his warmth. "I love you." She looked up into his eyes, seeing his love for her radiating from his eyes. "I really do. I mean—are you kneading my bum?"

"Why?" His smile turned into a mischievous grin. "Don't you like it?"

"You know I—" She narrowed her eyes. "Two can play that game." She wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly sliding up the front of his body as she stood on her tiptoes, her face aligned with his. "How's that for stimulation?"

"Don't start things you can't handle." He said, his voice dropping lower. One hand skimmed her waist and cupped her breast. The other pressed her closer to him.

She wrapped one leg around his waist, then another. She leaned back and rubbed herself slightly against him, sending him a sultry smile. "Oh, I can handle you very well."

"Don't be complaining in the morning, honey." He pressed her back hard against the wall. "This might just hurt." He slid his hand underneath her blouse, unclasping the front of her bra.

"I've proven myself to be a tough cookie, darling." She hurriedly undid the buttons of her blouse, watching in delight as he stopped and took her in. She never got tired of this habit of his. It was nice to be admired. "See something you like?"

He looked up at her. "Oh, I see a lot of things I like." He kissed the top of one breast, then another. "But most of all," he paused, and looked back up at her, "I see the woman I love."

She felt her heart constrict. "Shut up, you." She said, her voice husky, "I'm losing interest here, with all your talking."

"Well, I can't have that happen, can I?" He returned his attention to her breasts, first kissing, and then nipping the exposed flesh. He then latched on to her nipple, alternately licking, and sucking. He did the same to the other aureole, until she was writhing on top of him, wanting more.

He undid his trouser button and unzipped the zipper, letting the pants slide down to his knees. It was uncomfortable, but it would have to do. He couldn't wait. And from what he felt when he slipped his hand into her underwear, neither could she. Nevertheless, he spent a few moments stroking her there, back and forth, back and forth, looking at her face, flushed and moving from side to side.

"Please." She said, fisting her hands in his hair.

"Please what?" He asked, his voice hoarse. The flush had spread down to her neck.

"Please…I need you." Her hips were undulating against him, causing his pupils to dilate. "Now!"

He couldn't resist her command. He propped her knees on both of his arms, pushing her harder back against the wall and angling her hips to his. He thrust into her with one stroke, stopping when his hips met hers. He paused for a moment, head against the wall beside hers, both of them breathing rapidly.

"I'm going to leave a stain on your wallpaper." He said, widening his stance.

"It's okay. I don't think sweat leaves stains." She tightened her grip around his neck.

He groaned as she adjusted herself on him. "I don't think wallpaper makers knew people were going to make love on it."

"Touché." She moaned as he withdrew himself

"Are you alright?" He asked, gritting his teeth. "We can stop if you're uncomfortable."

"We've done it in the bathtub. I don't think anything gets—" she gasped as he thrust himself in once more. "—more uncomfortable than that willyoujustgetgoingalready! ? "

"As you wish." He captured her mouth with his, driving him in and out of her with long, firm strokes. She kissed him back, her grip on his hair almost painful. Sweat dripped down both of them, mingling where their bodies met.

"I—I—" She said, breaking from the kiss. She tightened around him, signalling her release. "A—ah!"

He grunted, feeling himself climax mere seconds after she was done. After a minute or two, he stepped out of his trousers, then pulled them away from the wall and carried them into the living room. "We've done it everywhere but the ceiling—" He stopped as she began to giggle. "What's funny?"

"The painting is oogling your arse."

"What painting?" He turned his head around and saw The Nude lying on the rock, openly staring at his behind. When The Nude noticed him staring back, she blushed and fluttered her fingers at him. He gave her a lazy grin back, and then turned back to the woman in his arms. "She has good taste."

"So does her owner." She replied, snuggling her head where his neck met his shoulders. "Let's go take a bath, then let's eat."

"Good thing dinner's in the oven." He carried her to the bathroom, trying to remember if the bathtub was that uncomfortable. They could probably stand it. His woman was a tough cookie, after all.

**Act Four: In which they are caught**

He decided to Apparate into her flat. He stumbled a bit when he got there, landing a bit too close to the cloak closet door. He looked at the door and attempted to form a stern face. "Bad door. Bad, bad door."

He looked up and had a goofy grin on his face. He looked around the small foyer, noticing that it was slightly different. However…he squinted at the walls. Yup, same wallpaper, though it was slightly discoloured in one spot. There was a mirror now, an old looking bronze one—he would ask her to take it down. She didn't need to go to a thrift store to get a proper mirror. He could buy her one that was cleaner and less-used looking. A new one!

He looked down. There were more shoes on the shoe rack—were those his shoes? And were those his trousers on the floor? He didn't remember leaving them there before—but maybe he was a bit sloshed then.

It didn't matter. Maybe she was angry and throwing his stuff around. He'd heard females were prone to do that. It was unexpected behaviour from her, but she was a bit off today.

He had a big bouquet of roses on one hand, and a jumbo package of liquored chocolates on the other. He grinned again. She was bound to forgive him now—he splurged on the jumbo sized one! He gripped his packages tighter. It seemed like they were slipping from his hands. "Buggering sweaty palms." He muttered to himself.

He walked towards the living room, smelling roast chicken and vegetables. She must be sorry for her earlier outburst then. She normally didn't cook meals. If she made this much of an effort, then she must want to reconcile. Her cooking skills were horrible. But he'll eat it anyway, just to show her how much he loved her.

He sniffed the air. It smelled so good, though. Maybe she ordered take-out? Or maybe she had one of her friends over to cook it for her. He chuckled to himself. Maybe she finally got of her high horse and asked a house elf to cook for her.

He continued to the kitchen, stopping when he heard voices. One of them was her—the other one was definitely male. He didn't notice when his fingers dug into the stems of the flowers and the package, snapping some of the stems in two and punching holes into the package.

What was she doing? With another man? In her apartment? A surge of jealousy went through him. That wasn't right! They were boyfriend and girlfriend! She shouldn't be doing that! She was cheating on him!

He could hear music—something instrumental—and see the candlelit glow from where he was standing. They never ate at her apartment, she preferring the hassle-free eating, and he preferring the better taste of restaurant cooked food. But now, all of a sudden, she cooks for another man, and eats in her apartment! He was the one supposed to be treated to that food! He was the one in a relationship with her!

But you've broken up, some part of his mind whispered.

Still! Even if they weren't together right now, she shouldn't be entertaining other men in her home! She was supposed to be regretting her decision to break up with him! She was supposed to be trying to find a way to get him back, not enjoying herself!

It was unfair! Here he was, making all the effort! It had always been that way! It was always him who would do all the work! He had to go and court her! He had to go and get a job! He had to "be serious about life"! Was it too much of him to ask her to give up her job and become a housewife? It wasn't! After all that he did for her, it was nothing. All she had to do was lead a less stressful life at home, get pregnant, and give him children! He was going to be the one slaving away to provide for her and their family! She didn't have to do a thing! And this was how she was going to repay him?

Well, he couldn't stand for that, could he? He was going to break up that little happy date of hers and give her a piece of his mind. 'How could you cheat on me?!' was what he'd day. He smiled as he imagined the look of horror and disgust on the man's face when he said that. The man would leave for sure, and never look back. Then she'd realize that there was no one else for her but him.

He made his way through the kitchen, inwardly smiling when he saw her face freeze.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him, her eyebrows knitting together.

He saw the man's shoulder tense. Good. He'll soon know that the girl he's after isn't available.

"I have every right to be here." He said, throwing the flowers and chocolate liquors on the counter. "I'm your boyfriend, remember?" He looked over at the man. "It's something you seem to have forgotten."

"I broke up with you, remember? A while ago? In your office?" She stood, her voice tired. "Now could you please take those out and go?" She motioned to the flowers and chocolate. "You're interrupting our dinner."

"I never knew you had it I you to cheat on me." He said, his anger building. How dare she deny that she was in a relationship with him! "Hey mate, get out. She's taken."

"Don't talk to him like that! And don't talk about me as if you own me." She was angry now. "We've broken up. I'm not yours. I was never yours."

"C'mon mate, get out. She's used goods, anyway. You don't want her." He was really pissed off. The bollocks of that man, ignoring him! Didn't he know who was speaking to him? "She's not that good in the sack either." He heard her sharp intake of breath. She was going to be angry, but he'll explain to her later. He was only doing this for her good, after all.

"What—wha—" she spluttered out.

"I think—" the man said, cutting in, "—that I'll be the judge of that. You don't know me, after all."

There was something familiar about the man's voice. He had heard it before, but where?

"I thought you were raised better than that. Isn't it bad form, to insult a woman like that?"

Who was he? That man was annoying him. Seriously. "Well, she's my girl, and I love her. She'll forgive me later, anyway."

"I can't believe you. How can you insult someone you claim to love like that?" The man turned around and looked at him squarely in the eyes. "You don't know her at all. She's not your girl, mate. She's my woman."

Both he and she stared at the man. She looked at him intensely, willing him to feel her gratitude, respect, and love. He looked at him in horror, recognition dawning upon him. It was that man! This couldn't be real! She had discarded him and his affections for this man? She would never do that!

That must mean...

There was only one feasible reason in his mind why she would go out with that man.

His eyes widened.

"You sonofabitch! "

**Intermission: In the local news section**

"Deaths puzzle investigators"

Two deaths were reported yesterday in an apartment near Rosedale Park. A man and a woman, who look to be in their early twenties, were found by a neighbour on the kitchen floor, apparently not breathing.

"I don't know what happened," the neighbour claims, "But I dreamed there was this flash of green light. Then when I woke up yesterday, I had this feeling that I had to check on her. No one answered the door, so I went in, and I found them. I immediately called emergency."

Investigators state that the time of death was at least a day before the neighbour made the call. No cause of death can be given at this moment.

**Act Five: In which there is an encounter**

It had been seven years since her death, and still he felt the hollowness in his heart. He liked to think that the spot where he felt the most hollow was the space she occupied in his heart.

It made it sound so romantic and tragic. Maybe when he was dead, some aspiring director will hear of their story and make a movie out of it. 'Tragic Romance', it would read on the marquee, and hundreds and thousands of wizards and witches would flock to the playhouses to see his—no, their story.

Girl and man fall in love, and then girl jeopardizes their relationship. Man is willing to take girl back, however, before they could have a romantic reunion, man finds girl dead in her apartment with another man.

He frowned. Why had she died? His memory of the night after they had a tiff was hazy. He remembered ordering flowers, then drinking a couple of shots of brandy. Wait—maybe it was more than a couple. Then he must've passed out. He did remember waking up on his couch the next morning, several empty bottles beside him.

He had walked to the mirror placed on the mantel and looked at his reflection. He looked older, somehow. He had run his hands over his chin, feeling the stubble growing there. He had looked to the side and had seen their picture. He had picked it up. A film of dust had covered the glass. There was one clean streak however. He felt chills roll down his spine as he looked at it. The line neatly divided their heads from their bodies.

He had hurriedly put it down, feeling a sharp pain behind his eyes. He was forgetting something. He couldn't remember what. It was something important, but the more he had thought about it, the more the pain had increased.

He had rubbed his hands over his eyes. He was sure that he'd remember it when it was time. His stomach had grumbled right at that very moment, and he had decided to use the Floo to go to his home. He might have some leftover turkey in the cold box.

It had been much, much later, and he had forgotten the earlier pain in his head. With two empty bottles of bourbon beside him, and a half-full one in his hand, he had turned on the Wireless Wizarding Network and listened to the news that would shatter his world.

She was dead.

He had remembered feeling cold, so he had hurriedly finished off the bottle in his hand, and went in search of another one. He had found a bottle of vodka near the dining room table, and had unscrewed the cap off in a hurry, craving the soothing effect the alcohol would have on him.

She was dead. And there was another man found with her.

He paused when he heard the man's name. Why would he be there?

He must have been harassing her, he concluded. They must've fought. The fight must have gotten out of hand.

He should've been there. She shouldn't have broken up with him. He would never have let her fight with that man. He would have fought him himself. He regretted the fact that he wasn't able to protect her from that man.

He had drowned his sorrows in alcohol, and had been violently sick the next day.

He shook his head, bringing himself out of the past and into the present. It was no use thinking back to those times. The past was done. He had to move on with his life. He liked to think it was what she would've wanted.

Live your life to the fullest, she would say. Don't worry about other people…

"…if you worry about what they will say now, then you'll never be able to look back at your life and say that you've been happy." A voice whispered behind him.

He whipped around, his heartbeat accelerating. There was it again. That voice, that sounded so much like hers. His eyes flicked from left to right, scanning the room for any sign of her. Usually, the voice was accompanied by—ah! There it was! A flash of white from the edges of his vision—the hem of a dress! He tried to follow the movement, but it had already disappeared.

Slowly, his heartbeat returned to normal. It had been going on for a few months now. She—he was pretty sure it was her—had been playing peek-a-boo with him, showing herself when he least expected it.

The first had been when he visited her grave. He had been sitting down on the base of the ash tree that grew beside it, when suddenly there was a flash of white at the edge of his vision. He quickly turned around, ready to shout at whomever was disturbing his private time. However, no one was there. He had dismissed it as nothing more than the reflection of the sun.

The next time had been when he was at work. He was trying to clean their picture. He had wiped the dust off the glass, but there was a streak of oil that he could not erase. He had felt panicked at seeing that—he had thought that if he could just remove that line dividing their heads from their bodies, then this sense of foreboding that hung over him would disappear. This time, he could sense that there was a woman in a dress standing in front of him. When he lifted his head, she was gone.

It had been like that, on and off. Just yesterday, while he was taking a shower, he saw an outline of a woman standing on the other side of the shower curtain. He had slowly grasped the edge, sure that this time, he would see her. She had laughed, which sent chills down his spine. It wasn't the warm laugh he'd remembered. When he had opened the curtain, she was gone.

Today—today she finally spoke to him. What was it that she wanted? Why wouldn't she show herself? It frustrated him, this new attitude of hers. She was never the coy type, preferring to be straightforward and honest with him. He had respected that and had treated her the same way. Theirs was a no frills relationship. So why had she changed now?

"I want to see you again." She whispered.

He froze. She wanted to what?

"I want to see you again."

He didn't want to move, fearing that she would disappear. She wanted to see him! So that was what it was all about…well, he was willing to oblige her. This only proved, after all, that they were meant to be, even after death. He'd have to tell that to her, of course, and make her see the error of leaving him. Of course, she might have seen it herself, seeing as she probably wanted to make amends now.

"See you…" Her voice was fading. "…Hogwarts."

"Wait—!" He turned around, hand outstretched.

He touched nothing but thin air.

**Act Six: In which there is a descent**

He looked around the castle, feeling odd and out of place. So much had changed, yet so much still remained the same. The castle looked as stately as ever. The Forbidden Forest still looked forbidding. There were still the house banners festooned everywhere. The students were still noisy, and full of the liveliness he had once had.

He sidestepped as some students barrelled down the hallway. However, the biggest change was that all the students mingled with each other. Wherever he looked, there were Hufflepuffs laughing with Ravenclaws, different ages of students talking to each other—and! The students he had sidestepped earlier were a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Running from one of the ghosts, he supposed. Those kids looked like first years to him.

Speaking of ghosts…where was she? He looked up at the floating beings in the ceiling. There were more of them than he remembered. How would he ever find her?

One of them glided down and stood beside him.

"Hello, sir. Are you lost?"

"Tell me where she is." He said, turning impatient all of a sudden. Why were these children so noisy? Why did they push and shove so?

"Pardon?" The ghost asked, cocking its' head to one side.

"She sent me here. Where is she?" This ghost was wasting his time. "Tell me."

"I do not know who the 'she' is you are asking for." The ghost replied. "But if you need a tour of Hogwarts, I am your guide for today. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Is this your idea of a joke?" he muttered to himself. She was being a tease. She was never a tease before. Was she trying to tell him a message? Was she trying to prove that they were incompatible? Well, she was his. He wasn't letting go of her that easily.

"I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that." The ghost gave him a small smile. "I was hard of hearing when I was alive—"

"Shut up and bugger off, you cold fish." He snarled at the ghost. If they didn't want to help him, then fine! He would find her himself. He knew the castle inside out, after all. Damned annoying ghosts. They were useless!

"C-cold Fish!" The ghost sputtered out. "I hope you rot in the Forbidden Forest and have your intestines eaten by banshees, you—you uncouth individual!" It shouted at him as he stomped into one of the corridors.

He didn't care if he was being rude. She told him to come here, and she had better be here, damn it! Besides, banshees didn't eat human entrails, only animal ones.

Suddenly he stopped. There was a shining white object at the end of the corridor. He quickened his pace, his breathing becoming rapid. This was it. He would see her.

When he neared the object, his hopes were dashed. It was a painting, of a dark forest with a glowing white rock in the centre. The corridor was quite dark, and lit only by flickering candles. Those must have illuminated the rock, making it seem like it was alive.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling even more frustrated. This was pointless! He should have just used a summoning spell. He was not sure if it would work, but anything would be better than this!

He was about to turn around when something compelled him to take a second look. He crouched down until he was eye level to the rock, squinting to eliminate the glow. Aha! It wasn't a rock…it was a dress, left on the forest floor! It must be her dress…why did she leave it there? What did she want him to do?

He looked to the left and saw a wall. He turned to the right…a staircase!

Hastily, he began to climb. The staircase was dark like the corridor, and was lit only by small squares that he supposed were meant to be windows. It wound around a column—he must be in a tower. The question was which one?

After climbing for what seemed to be an eternity, he saw another painting. This time, it was one of a drunken knight, leaning unsteadily on a tree. The knight was waving a pair of knickers at him, grinning. "She's waiting up there for you, mate."

He nodded in acknowledgement, and continued on. He didn't see the knight's face lose its drunkenness. He also didn't get to see the knight spit on the ground after he had passed.

A few more flights and he saw another painting. This one was of a dragon protecting its nest of eggs. There was a bra left hanging on a tree behind them. The dragon glared at him as he passed, its nostrils emitting jets of smoke. He brushed this off, knowing how protective dragons were of their young.

It continued on in a pattern—a few flights of stairs, then a painting with an article of clothing. The last one he had passed was a high heeled shoe. If he recalled correctly, that left her with nothing on.

He smiled to himself. Did she think that she would put him off by putting on a striptease? He had not seen her naked for the entire time they had been together. He had assumed that she wanted to save herself for marriage. He had abided by her wishes. Of course he would've liked to have consummated their relationship earlier, but they were going to get married sooner of later, so he figured he could wait.

If he had known she was going to try to bail out on him, he would've pressured her sooner.

But that was the past, and this was now. He would be the only man to see her without her clothes. He wouldn't pass up on that opportunity for anything.

He looked out of one of the squares. It was late afternoon already, and the daylight was fading. He had better hurry up if he wanted to see anything. Soon it would only be the firelight illuminating his path.

He continued on, panting as he finally reached the top. There was a door blocking his way. He leaned on it for a few seconds, trying to regain his breath. It wouldn't do him any good to appear like he was hot and bothered.

He took in a few deep breaths, then twisted the door handle and pushed. It was jammed. Well, he would have to use more force then. He counted to three, and gave a big push. The door gave way, hitting the wall of the tower with a load bang.

He entered the room, slightly swaggering, and then stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.

There she was, kneeling on a white cloth placed on a rock, completely without her clothes. The fading sun cast shades of red and orange and yellow on her skin, making her seem vibrant and alive. The water threw gold sparkles on her skin and hair. Her lips were tilted up in a slight smile, and her cheeks were rosy pink.

For a moment, he felt his breath seize in his chest. She was beautiful. She was breathtaking. She looked like she was waiting for her lover.

So this was what he had been missing on.

He took a step forward, and then another. He reached out his hands to touch her, but then stopped, feeling his heart turn into ice.

The man stepped into the picture, also completely devoid of clothing. The man tucked her hair behind her ear, and whispered a few words, which made her smile. Then he lay her down and kissed her under her jaw, following a path down to her navel.

He felt his vision turn red at the sight before him. How dare she! How dare she have that man touch her like that—touch her when he, her boyfriend, had not even been given the privilege? They were supposed to get married! He was the only one who was supposed to see her like that, touch her like that! He was the only one who had the right!

He took another step forward, feeling rage course through him, filling his every pore.

She was nothing but a two-timing whore! So this was what she wanted to show him? Her true colors? She must have been cheating on him this entire time! He was a fool, sacrificing so much of his life for her. He should never have gotten that office job. He would've been better off setting his sights on some debutant who would've followed his every bidding.

Let's break up.

He would take that man off her; take him off what was rightfully his! No one should be able to make her smile like that but him!

In her eyes was disappointment…

And then! He would teach her a lesson. He would move her in with him and wouldn't let her out of the house—no one, no one but him would see her ever again.

She laughed mirthlessly.

She wouldn't laugh at him ever again. She would learn her place. She would learn where she rightfully belonged.

I don't want to do this anymore. It's not enough.

She tilted her head to look at him straight in the eyes. "You're not enough. You will never be." Then she smiled.

He felt something inside him snap. With a roar, he charged at them, hands curled into fists. He drew back an arm and fired a punch at the man's head. The man ducked, and he felt his hand go through the wall. His momentum carried him through, and his eyes widened as he heard the ripping of canvas as he went through the painting and to the other side.

It felt like slow motion to him. His eyes were blinded by the rays of the setting sun. He twisted around, and saw the canvas fluttering outside the window. She was there, watching him with a satisfied smile on her face.

His mind finally recognized where he was. The Astronomy Tower, where he spent many nights in his youth trying to predict his demise. Somehow, with all his wild imaginings, he never imagined this would happen.

As he fell, he thought: they lied.

Your life doesn't flash before your eyes when you're about to die.

**Act Seven: In which all is revealed**

The Nude was sleeping peacefully on her rock when she heard the shouts. Blinking her eyes, she stood up and went to the edge of her frame, where she had a full view of the dining area.

There was her mistress, with her lover. They had been eating dinner when she fell asleep, she recalled. Who was this new one, though? He was slightly unsteady on his feet, swaying from side to side. She had seen him before, she was sure of it.

"You sonofabitch! "

"I assure you, Weasley, my parentage isn't disputable." The lover said, putting down his knife and fork.

Weasley…that name rang a bell—of course! It was her mistresses' slave owner. She had seen him only once in her mistresses' apartment—he had been drunk, and was shouting at her mistress, calling her…what was it? Oh yes, a 'stuck up' and 'snobbish' woman who had 'a stick up her arse' and the attitude of a 'prude'.

Her mistress had cried then, and hadn't left the house for days. Weasley returned though, with flowers and chocolate. Her mistress had accepted them, and said she would try to improve on her mistakes. He went away, happy. Her mistress had burned the flowers and thrown the chocolates in the trash. Her mistress hated liquored chocolates.

That had been the time she had first seen the lover. She knew he and her mistress had kept up a correspondence, and had thought that they were friends, but one look at his face, and she knew he was head over heels over her poor mistress.

"There is no way in goblin hell that she would ever consent to go out with you, Malfoy!"  
Weasley snarled, his hands fisting at his sides.

"She's here with me, isn't she?" Malfoy said, shrugging.

"She loves me, not you. We were planning to get married!"

"You treat her like shit and expect her to be happy about it, Weasley." Malfoy frowned. "You may love her, but she sure as hell doesn't love you."

Her mistress spoke up. "You never asked me to marry you, Ron."

"Well, we were planning it, weren't we? So it's a given that you've agreed."

"We never planned anything." Her mistress narrowed her eyes. "You assumed I'd go along. You never asked me about it. You just assumed that I should immediately give up my life for you!"

"What do you want, a proposal? Fine!" Weasley knelt down on one knee. "Will you marry me?"

Her mistress shook her head. "I won't." She reached out and took Malfoy's hand in hers. "I never will. I love someone else, Ron." She looked at Malfoy and smiled. He smiled back.

Weasley slowly stood. He now had his wand in his hand. The Nude felt a sense of foreboding overcome her. Weasley seemed drunk to her. Nothing good would come out of this.

"You've been acting strange lately, Hermione." Weasley's voice was calm. Too calm for her liking. "You never act like this. You aren't like this."

"Maybe you've never taken the time to really get to know me." Her mistress whispered.

Weasley shook his head. "I know you inside and out, Hermione. The only reason you would go out with him—" He spat at Malfoy's feet. "—is if you were under an Impervius spell."

Both her mistress and Malfoy stared at Weasley. "Are you out of your mind?" Her mistress asked.

Weasley shook his head. "It's my responsibility as your boyfriend to rid you of the spell." He brought up his wand and aimed it at her mistress. "Finite Incantatem!"

A jet of blue light hit her mistress square in the chest, propelling her backwards, causing her to hit the wall.

"Weasley, what the fuck are you doing!?" Malfoy said, rushing over to her mistresses' side. "Have you gone completely mental!?"

"Finite Incantatem!" The jet of light hit her mistress, slamming her onto the wall again.

"Stop that!" Malfoy shouted, grabbing Weasley's wand.

Weasley punched Malfoy in the face, causing him to lose his grip on the wand.

"You're the source of all this trouble, Malfoy." Weasley narrowed his eyes at him. "If you hadn't spelled Hermione, everything would be all and well!"

Weasley kicked Malfoy in the gut. Malfoy grabbed on to Weasley's leg, then punched him in the groin. Weasley doubled over, and Malfoy took his own wand out of his pocket and trained it on Weasley.

"Give it up, Weasley. She loves me, not you."

"I'll never give her up, Malfoy. She belongs to me." Weasley rose up and pointed his wand at her mistress once more.

Malfoy's eyes widened. He ran towards her mistress, trying to shield her from Weasley's next hit. At the last moment, Weasley shifted his wand to focus on Malfoy.

"You should die." Weasley smiled. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

The Nude saw a burst of green light, then Malfoy's body falling to the ground. She covered her mouth with both hands. This cannot be happening. Her mistress's lover was dead.

"Draco?" Her mistress whispered. "Draco?" Her voice was slightly panicked. Her hands shook his lifeless body, willing him to wake.

"Oh no." She dropped her head to his shoulder, pulling his body into a hug. "Oh no, no, please, no."

"C'mon, Hermione. He's gone. Let's go." Weasley said, grabbing a chicken leg from the table and biting into it.

Her mistress looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "Ronald, what did you just do?"

"He's dead, Hermione." He looked at her and smiled. "Aren't you happy? The Impervius spell is broken. You're free from him. We can go back to the way we were."

Her mistress shook her head. "I wasn't under any spell, Ron. I chose to be with him of my own free will."

His smile disappeared from his face. "Don't you love me?"

"I don't." She said, meeting his eyes. "I told you that this morning. You're love will never be enough, Ron. You will never be enough for me." She looked down at Malfoy's face and stroked his cheek. "I love Draco. Not you. Him."

The Nude saw Weasley's hands grip his wand tightly. His face was turning purple from rage. He lifted his wand and aimed it at her mistress.

No, nononononononononono! Get out! He's going to hurt you! She screamed, but no sound would come out. She watched in horror as his mouth spoke the words. Her mistress didn't notice, too much caught up in her own grief.

A flash of green light, and her mistress's body slumped down on top of her lover's, now lifeless.

Weasley pocketed his wand and looked at the two bodies on the floor. "If I can't have her, then nobody will." He whispered, turning on his heel and walking out of her mistress's apartment.

The Nude screamed and screamed, tears flowing down her face. She screamed until she felt hoarse, and cried until she had no more tears left to cry. She sat down on the cloth covered rock, completely exhausted. As the morning sun filtered through the windows, she felt her resolve harden.

Her mistress was dead. Her mistress's lover was dead.

And it was his entire fault.

She would return the favour one day, she swore. A life for a life.

His days were numbered.

FIN


End file.
